Little Blackie's massive, jet-black dragon body still hovered above the wasteland.
He had already sensed the oppressive presence rising from below.
This mother dragon... was really strong!
Each beat of his dragon wings stirred up foul gusts mingled with the damp air of the marsh.
His pale golden vertical pupils were fixed firmly on the red dragon retainers below, who had fallen into brief chaos due to the surprise attack.
There was not a trace of fear in his eyes.
Only cold killing intent and unwavering resolve.
He knew what it meant to step into the borders of Scorching Rift of his own accord.
But he knew even more clearly that he had to establish their momentum now.
They could not wait until the red dragons' army had fully assembled and advanced upon Black Scale Marsh.
His master's words had reminded him.
If he waited for the red dragons to attack first, what awaited him would be even more desperate attrition and encirclement.
Rather than passively await death, he might as well risk his life and strike first.
This was the most primal instinct of aggression buried deep within black dragon blood.
It was also the tactical courage Zong Shen had bestowed upon him, a way of thinking beyond that of ordinary dragons.
What was more, Zong Shen himself was personally overseeing this battle.
Behind him, the elite black dragon retainers had swiftly completed their assembly.
Dozens of adult Wyverns strengthened by Dragon Blood formed a spearhead formation, their rough black scales gleaming with an oily sheen beneath the dim red light of the rift.
Hard bone spurs grew along the edges of their broad fleshy wings, while the draconians riding on their backs had already aimed their Poison Coating Crossbow Bolts at the orc formations below.
Further behind, draconian